Page 89 of The Men of Summer Collection

Declan

Going public was never the hard part. I’ve had zero fears about telling the world who I love.

My goal has always been that we would be the ones to tell our love story. As we pull into the parking lot near the field by the marina, a car zips down a small hill on a roller coaster a few hundred yards away.

This is our time and our tale. We can tell it on our own terms. That’s what I’ve always wanted. For us to announce that we’re together.

Not my dad.

Not my teammates.

Not my coach.

Not the media.

Not some random Instablogger.

I want it to be our choice.

As we step out of his car—our car—I meet his gaze across the roof, crooking a smile in his direction.

He serves one right back to me, drumming his fingers as the San Francisco sun shines brightly overhead. “You ready?”

“So ready,” I say, and that feels like my anthem lately.

It took me more than five years to be ready. Took me losing him, trying to win him back and failing. Took us spending years apart so I could look into the mirror and learn who I was and who I needed to be. Took me making the commitment to change.

And then it took me actually changing.

Now, here I am.

We walk around the front of his car, link hands, and walk into the fairground.

We aren’t hounded by sports media. There are no news networks here. It’s just a carnival for charity, and as we walk past the ring toss, Grant jerks up his chin, catching someone’s attention. His eyes light up. He lifts his free hand and waves to a toned Black teen with long hair cinched in a ponytail.

“Hey, Topaz,” he calls.

She bounds over, a willowy white blonde by her side.

“Wait! You finally asked out Olive?” Grant asks.

The blonde smiles. “She did.” Olive smacks Topaz affectionately. “Also, you told Grant you were going to ask me out?”

Topaz smiles, owning it. “I did. Showed him your pic. He said, ‘Go for it.’”

Olive smiles at my guy. “Then I owe you a big thank you because I was so shy. I kept hoping she’d ask me to go to this.”

Their eyes drift to our hands.

Topaz shimmies then squeals. “Shut up! Are you two together?”

With pride surging in me, I kiss Grant’s cheek then wrap my arm around his shoulder. “Yes, I’m Declan Steele. His boyfriend.”

She smacks me playfully on the arm. These two are swatters, apparently. A perfect match. Maybe they both like Gossip Girl too. “I know who you are!” Topaz says. “I’m a huge Dragons fan. I was so excited to hear about your trade.” She presses her hands together in prayer. “Please, please, please get us a World Series.”

“That’s the goal,” I say.

Grant bumps his shoulder to mine. “Aww, someone likes the Dragons.”

Topaz waggles her phone. “Can I take your pic? Post it?”

“You better,” Grant says.

With my arm around his shoulders, his around my waist, we smile for the camera in front of the ring toss. It’s a far cry from the picture a fan took in Arizona at a hockey game. We don’t need a cover and won’t ever need one again.

As we say goodbye and walk past an aisle of balloon and dart games, I know exactly what I do need.

Him.

Just him.